Dear Sir or Madame:
Please consider me for the bathroom attendant internship. My experience in the entertainment industry provides a solid foundation to serve in lavatory services, as I’ve cleaned up, been handed, and massaged a boatload of crap. Like my first boss, an established producer, who couldn’t afford to pay or give me credit for penning what spun off into a blockbuster that’s now a franchise, complete with a book series, luggage collection, and Ben and Jerry’s flavor called (Ice) Scream. That said, he did compliment me on my touch-typing and vocal chords. See how I bragged about doing the bare minimum and then played it off as if it was a skill? Another tool I picked up in Hollywood!
On a practical level, my skills as a writer will cross over to attending bathrooms. For starters, I can sit stationary without sunlight, exercise, or human contact for hours. I am used to being ignored. I don’t expect tips to be worth much, although I remain grateful to my agent who has taught me, by example, how to sleep with one’s eyes open. Moreover, I know not to take things personally, like when a fellow staff writer accidentally flushed my script down the toilet. What’s black and white and wet all over? My baby floating in a basin.
In writing this cover letter, I have come to realize that being a screenwriter is my passion, commonly known to civilians as delusion. Since the I.R.S. has recommended I explore alternative income streams, I can intern for you. I’d greatly appreciate it if everyone at The Gentlemen’s Club refers to the bathroom as my office, and not just as a euphemism. Also, in lieu of a stipend for public transportation, could you reimburse me for printer cartridges? Lastly, once my spec is bought, made, and shown to audiences—who will no doubt declare it an instant classic—I promise to thank you in my Oscar awards speech.
Thank you for your consideration.